Brennende Versprechung
by Rosebleed
Summary: A group of oneshots, centering on either Rogue, Pyro, or Ryro.The title means 'Fiery Promises'
1. MiseryRewrite

okay taking into the consideration the review left be tHetRuThaBoUtRoSeS (btw: thank you sooo much you were a really big help) i decided to rework/rewrite 'Misery'..so here it is

* * *

_Misery_

"Do it John! Just Do it! Pull the trigger and put me out of my fucking misery!"

Sobbing, Rogue dropped to her knees and buried her face in her arms, hiding the mascara-streaked and tear-filled face that replaced the usually lively and friendly one. The face that once had given him the smiles he needed to at least coast to the next day without a hitch, the face that he adored for so obscenely long even though she didn't belong to him. He knew the voices in her mind mentally berated her actions, shouting that they were weak. He always knew what those voices said to her, not that she ever told him; or anyone else for that matter. She preferred to be silent about her own suffering and immerse herself in others, to forget that she had the voices of murderers, rapists, and wife-beaters locked inside her mind, throwing themselves at the doors to her brain. Her whole body shook with pent up emotions that eviscerated her soul.

John stood there, watching this. He'd come here to kill her, torture her for making him feel these things. These things no one had ever made him undergo; sentiments pushing their normally constrained boundaries. He joined the Brotherhood, he was a soldier, he wasn't meant for attachments of any kind and he still couldn't let her go. He didn't want to want her, be ended up doing it anyway. With the gun in his hand he was determined to end her interference in his life, they had been close friends but that was over now, they had to move on. But he couldn't. Couldn't move on, because that friendship had meant so much to him. The effect it had was, still is overpowering in every sense of the word.

Standing there looking at the disheartened and emotionally shattered girl, he couldn't do it. Couldn't end her life because of something tugging at the back of his brain, it was far too strong and human to be ignored. The rough edges of his own inner voice cut him deep, so deep it would never be seen by another human. He felt the tears of frustration and anger brim near his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He had never cried, not for anyone or anything. And certainly never for someone he should hate. He would never show this part to her. No one else had ever seen it and no one ever will. It was the promise he had made when he hightailed it out of that godforsaken orphanage. When he left that place, it was like leaving hell. But only to enter a new one.

He let his hand slide down on an angle slowly, almost painstakingly. His arm shook from the inner battle that had erupted in the dormant gaps in his mind. The fantastic horrors few ever even came close to experiencing. And without warning he took a step nearer to Rogue, then another and another, until he was a mere foot from her disheveled from.

The gun in his hand dropped to the side and a bullet when off in the opposite direction with a loud _crrraaackkk, _hitting a trash can a few seconds later.Following the gun, John fell hard to his knees and looked off to the side almost embarrassed that he had used such a weapon that humanity had created. The same humanity he swore to destroy because of their hypocrisy and intolerance.

Abruptly he wrapped his long arms around the trembling form of Rogue as her tears left spots on his shirt. Little teardrops full of sorrow and pain and suicidal thoughts, encompassing themselves around a girl with a battered book of a life. He didn't say anything, but gripped her tightly against him. And though he'd never show it, he was ashamed, and emotion he had almost never felt in his life, because he had done terrible things to her and all she ever did was love him too much to let him go. He was reluctant to even believe that she loved him as much as she said, after all no one even had and the difficulty of accepting that was overwhelming.

He noticed her muscles go slack and only assumed that she had fallen asleep, ignorant of the sensations that she had caused to erupt within his body and mind. She didn't know the things men would do for her, _to her._ Her naivety was nearly unbearable. But he knew she was no child, there were things in her past that countered the nine circles of hell tenfold.

Confusion entrapped John's mind as all the memories of when they had been friends, flooded into his mind; her telling him about her dark past and him telling her about his past, lying on the bed just talking and joking around. Thinking back, they had never really thought about what those hours together meant to one another and by the time they did it was far too late. Too late to salvage anything that would constitute as a normal relationship or even friendship. He made his choice, and she made hers and they were sadly at opposite sides of the spectrum, destined to never meet.

Exasperated with the thoughts, John interrupted them by lifting Rogue into his arms, carrying her bridal-style to his jeep. He laid her down in the backseat, and closed the door, lighting up a cigarette with his favorite Zippo. Casting glances at the girl in his backseat, occasionally daring to touch her, daring for this not to be real. He stood there in the darkness, praying for the end of this tunnel of confusion and sorrow and everything that followed them and dragged them down. And for a new morning, a new slate for him and Rogue to start on to appear…


	2. Babies

Disclaimer: i own nothing but all three of the movies...::tear;tear:::

Okay this might seem a little religious to some but i didn't mean it to be, I just figured that it would be how Rogue would see it...  
Anyhow, thanks for all the reviews and maybe you can give me some ideas on what i could write next, anyway on to the story (it's a lil short, your warned)

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**_Babies_**

Dear Diary:

I never understood how someone could abandon their baby, it always seemed so inhumane to me. I mean if you didn't want it, you shouldn't have had it.

That's what went through my head when I heard about the 3 day old little girl that died in a dumpster near to the police station. They say she didn't die from the cold that would have been the blessing; no, she died from being suffocated by a tire iron being dropped in by someone who didn't hear her screams.

After hearing that I stormed out, I don't think anyone knew why and I didn't expect them to, after all they wouldn't understand it.

My momma was an angel and she inspired me to become a mother too. She always said, "God's greatest gift to me was my children and I want you to never forget that, because no matter how tough the world gets, when you look at your babies with their small, toothy smiles. You know that whatever you do affects them, so be good to them." This was her mantra; even as she watched her babies go to live with someone else because it wasn't safe to stay with her anymore.

But after I got my mutation, well it fucked up all my hopes and dreams of children or a family. What man wants a girl who can't give him his own children; maybe that's why it's hard for infertile couples to stay together. I don't know, I've only known several and their inability to have children was rarely a topic of conversation, especially in the Deep South.

The story of my life, ugh. Maybe I could adopt, but the chances of the government giving a mutant a child are slim.

I always hope one day I'll wake up and I'll be able to touch. A stupid wish, I know but I just want to know that I can have my very own baby. Yeah I know I'm only seventeen, but if I was given the chance say tomorrow, I would do it.

There's nothing I wouldn't give to hold a baby and look into its eyes and know that it's mine and nobody else's. That it came from inside me.

I need to get over myself though, because I'll never have my own kid. And right now I just need to accept it; obviously I was just never meant to be a parent, a child in heaven mustn't have needed me to be their mother.

I'm just not special enough for that gift.


	3. A Greek Tragedy

I wrote this on a whim, I kept starting a lot of stuff and never finishing it, so this one i sat through and actually wrote completely...now 20 minutes and a sleeping leg later it is done, it might not make a lot of sense. But that is kind of how I wanted it, any way enjoy...  
Disclaimer: Not mine, and never will be mine...if only I could get Pyro in an elevator, alone for 5..err...10 minutes I could die happy ::runs off crying::

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**_Greek Tragedy_**

Staring, dismal sardonic looks,

Shown from the haziest shade of green

No control

They lack any control

-

Run amok around the bushes and trees

Hide, seek

Fear footsteps on the creaking steps

Not supposed to be here

-

Children, they are nothing more than that

Children, with minds of the aged

Living in a poisoned world of hate and discrimination

A deadly toxin invading true innocence and purity

He becomes tainted

Fueled by years of torture, abuse, laughter

The ever mocking laughter

-

Called heathens

Banished to eternal torment

But they are already there

But when had reality become this mixed version of heaven and hell

Walk the streets,

See the truth

-

They walk the street with the rest

_**MUTANTS!**_

Taunted, haunted

They only want to live

Be free of this hate

-

She recognizes his change

How the words affect him now

He won't be near much longer

Time is running out

Days to hours to minutes to seconds

-

There wasn't enough time to say what had to be said

Hate took him

And so many others, the blood

Oh the blood

On hands, feet, legs, arms

Everywhere

In the silver locks of hair

Drenched,

His blood

Only his blood mattered

-

People stop on the street

A perverse pleasure

Sick and twisted, pull the wings off a butterfly pleasure

-

A girl

Angelic face framed with ashen locks mixed within russet

Large creased brown eyes

Creased by stress of war, hate, abandonment…survival

Small hands, free of the ever present cloth

Doused with the crimson liquid

Her screams halt time

Halt the city

-

The boy

Just barely a man

Barely

Lay broken and bruised on the hard concrete

Destroyed by his own hate

And hate of others

People watch him die

No one assists the heathen

-

The girl

A woman for few years

Grabs his jacket

Her calls of his name unanswered

**John! John! John!**

He moves his head, slightly

Alive, scarce heartbeat

Dissipating

-

She tells him

Hold on, they're coming

But he knows they're not coming for him

He holds onto her blood-soaked hand

Trembling in fear, apprehension

Hell calls his name

-

She bends towards him

Clutching his head to her breast

Desperately

He tells her the things that weren't said

Things she waited too long to here

Things they'd hid

Along with their letters, phone calls, everything

Tucked away in both they're hearts

Hidden as their forms rhythmically moved to their own tune

Calm sometimes

Desperate and thrill seeking the next

-

He fades to the dark

Arm limp as she holds and curses him

No more breath

No more heartbeat

No more love

-

Hearts change in the audience

The mortal plight of a young man and women played out before them

Romeo and Juliet

Pyramus and Thisbe

Doomed from the start

If these children had been demon spawn

How did they feel the same emotions?

Same anger, hate, love, happiness

They are the same

-

She yells for help

Faintly acknowledging that nothing more can be done

Nothing more

She holds his head

Screaming at those who had killed him

But not only those with the guns

And not only those with the words

But also the ones who had done nothing

The ones who had let it happen

-

By the time they arrived

Her face was already drenched in tears

Beautiful brown eyes red and raw

Haggard from her pain

Never the same again

Attempts at comfort are futile

She refuses to let go of his body

-

One hour, two hour

Still there

Until a older man steps up

Loner and outcast

But far more understanding than the rest

He pries her blood coated hands off his body

And notices her limp stature

Carrying her tired body through the crowd

To the jet

-

Body is picked up

Blood washed away

Damage repaired

But no more fixing could ever help

Audience and cast alike

The blasphemous and doomed show

Done, forever

-

The curtains are no more

And time cannot be turned back

And like his funerary shroud

The entire world goes black


End file.
